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re: Sister Mercy
 by Relic / Karman on Fri Sep 20, 2019 11:08 pm
The sun rises over the quite neighborhood of Urban Hills. Random dogs bark as the birds start singing their morning songs. The streets are mostly empty, save for those early risers out gathering the morning newspaper. Unknown to the residents, blood has been spilt in the most unlikely of places.
Bodies lay beaten and bloody in the office of Father John McCay. The once pristine office now sits in shambles, the screams and pleas of mercy now silent, as a young woman kneels before the body of the Father, her bloody hands folded in silent prayer. The only light in the room is a dull red glow from a ring resting on the young woman’s right hand.
The Night before……
Located just outside Metropolis, the Church of the Saints rest on top of small hill seeing to the spiritual needs of anyone choosing to enter. Father John McCay and the few resident nuns tend to those needs offering services twice a week. Sister Mercedes Von Kemp tends to her daily chores of sweeping, moping and cleaning the few small offices of the Church. Having only been at the Church less than a year she was tasked with all the menial work. She, however, did not mind the silence the night brings. It was soothing and she enjoyed it. She was use to doing things alone. Her former life taught her to be self-sufficient; just one of many other skills she has chosen to forget.
She shakes her head, angry with herself for letting those memories come back. Taking lives was easy, she was good at it, but it did take something away from her. Now, hiding out here, in this small church, she has given back. Her compassion for the needy has gained her quit the reputation. Sister Mercy she is called by those she cares for and although she does not care for the name, she feels that she should be able to do more.
In the office of Father McCay, she begins cleaning the clutter on the office desk. “Let me out, release me,” a voice says. Startled, she spins around and drops into a combat crouch, but sees no one. Thinking she is just imagining it, she returns to her cleaning. Making her way to the bookshelf, she stops suddenly.
A slight red glow catches her eye, but vanishes as quickly as it appeared. ‘Ok’ she thinks. ‘I must be getting tired,’ but something inside her tells her to investigate further. Looking at the books around where she thought the light was coming from showed nothing out of the ordinary at first. She noticed a tiny sliver of paper sticking out of the top of one of the books.
Sister Mercedes knows she should not look, but something inside her compels her to remove the book. The book itself has no title on the binder, but it was old, bound in now worn out leather. Slowly opening it, she quickly discovers it’s a journal dating back many years. She flips through a few pages and reads accounts of a young boy being abused by his foster family. ‘Could this belong to Father McCay?’, she thinks. The boy talks about his anger and how he can’t control it any longer. His rage was becoming unstoppable.
Flipping forward a few pages, she reads how he was found beaten at the steps of a church. The Priest took him in and made sure he was ok. The boy wrote that he explained it was the other kids that did this to him and how angry he was. The Priest had taught him that God would look after him and this was just a test to make him a good man. Continuing to read, she discovers that after the boy left he was hearing voices in his head. He wrote that it was it was guiding him to a shady part of the city. She turns the page and suddenly drops the book, startled. Catching her breath, she picks the book up and finds the page she was reading. The voice was telling the young boy, “Let me out, release me.”
The next few pages were uneventful, but then the writing changed. She couldn’t tell if it was written by the same person. It looked to be the same person, but now he seemed content and that once he found ‘it’ he was no longer afraid. ‘What did he find? Serenity maybe’, she thinks to herself.
The journal suddenly ends with a note saying ‘NO MORE’. This is where the piece of paper was that she had seen earlier. Unfolding it, she noticed it was a new paper article from 20 years ago recounting the gruesome murder of a foster family. The parents and all the children above the age of 16 were murdered, except one, whose whereabouts were unknown and was wanted for questioning. The younger children were questioned, but could only say they saw a glowing red light and heard screams. At the bottom of the page was written ‘Please forgive me, for I have sinned’.
The sound of an opening door startles the young woman causing her to almost drop the journal. She quickly closes it and places it back on the shelf, not noticing the faint red glow inside the empty slot from which the book came.
“Good evening Sister,” Father McCay says entering the room.
“Good evening Father, what brings you in at this hour?”, she says, keeping her face down turned to hide her guilt of looking at the journal.
“Sister, you may retire from cleaning and please make sure we are not disturbed.”
“We?” she says looking up. Stunned, she sees three men all dressed in uniforms and all carrying guns. Those men looked intimidating, but the one behind them; he had an aura of evil about him and she has seen him before. ‘What was his name?’ she thinks, trying to place the masked man in her memory.
“Of course, Father, perhaps your guest would like some tea?”
“No thank you Sister, they won’t be staying long. Now please excuse us.”
She couldn’t help but sense the tremble in his voice as she made her way to the door. ‘What did these men want with the Father?’ Turning to close the door she catches the slight gleam of red from the bookshelf; ‘Let me out, release my rage’, the same voice in her head says. Once the door latches closed, she whispers, ‘No! Now get out of my head’.
Turning to leave, Sister Mercedes hears the men talking, then a loud bang followed by a muffled grunt. Her body immediately react, grabbing the door handle, she gets ready to barge in and take out any hostiles, but she pauses, cursing her previous life. Whispering a silent prayer, she knocks once and opens the door.
“Father McCay? Is everything alright?” she asks, innocently stepping into the room.
She sees the masked villain holding the Father’s head down against the desk, one gunman pulling open desk drawers and throwing the contents on the ground as if he is looking for something. The other two gunman are standing on either side of the door. The one to her left immediately steps in her path, his gun pointing directly at her head.
She eyes her surroundings as if weighing her options. She knows she could easily disarm the two at the door and reach Father McCay is just a few seconds, but she knows that will more than enough time for the masked villain to kill him. Keeping her composer, the young Nun steps toward the Father, slapping the gun away from her head.
“Get that gun out of my face. This is the house of God and I will not be intimidated by some thug, “she yells.
The thug seemed startled by the young woman’s response and reaches back as if to strike the woman with the butt of the gun. He never gets the chance. Seeing what the thug was about to do, Mercedes’ survival training takes over as she quickly steps to the side, drops to the ground and spins, using her legs to sweep the gunman off his feet.
Knowing she now has the advantage, she rolls and punches the other gunman in the groin, dropping him to his knees.
“That is enough young lady,” the villain yells. “Another move from you and the Father is a blood stain on the desk.” He pushes down even harder on Father McCay, causing him to scream in pain. “I need information from him and my contract is very clear, but I can and will adjust as necessary, so killing you both is an option.”
Sister Mercedes, still crouched close to the floor, eyes the masked man.
“I know who you are Deathstroke. Father McCay is a good man, he does much for this community and is a man dedicated to God. What business have you with him?” She once again catches the gleam of red from the bookshelf.
Father McCay mumbles from under the grip of Deathstroke,
“Sister, please. Just leave. There’s no need for you to…”
Deathstroke slams an elbow to the back of the Father’s head,
“Shut up McCay,” he yells. “None of this is necessary, just give me what I need and I’ll just kill you and leave the Nuns and your Church intact. As far you,” looking at the young woman, “you say you know me? Then you know my business and what I do. I could have already killed you, but I can see that you have a few secrets of your own,” nodding to the gunman as they slowly stand back up moaning from the recent takedown.
“You move with purpose; quickness and I can see your eyes calculating options. This only ends one way. The only difference is how many bodies are left behind.”
Sister Mercedes stands, never taking her eyes off the hired killer. The vows she took when becoming a Nun are now gone; replaced with survival instincts of the former life she left behind. ‘Release your rage, free me’ the now familiar voice says in her head.
‘Why has no one noticed the red glow from the bookshelf?’ She thinks back to the journal she read just moments ago and realizes that it has something, if not everything to do with this. Deciding to play ‘the victim’ she takes a few steps toward Father McCay and Deathstroke. ‘Use your rage’, the voice says again.
“Please just leave him alone,” she says. “We will give you what you want, there is no need to kill anyone. Let the Father up and let me help him.”
Deathestroke laughs, “Sorry, I don’t fail a contract. Now, what shall we do with you?”
The two thugs behind her grab her arms and move her to a chair across from the desk, putting her closer to the Father and the masked villain, which is exactly where she wanted to be. Once forcibly pushed into the chair the two gunmen back away, keeping their guns trained on her from a safe distance. The third one, feeling that things have calmed down, continued his messy search making his way over to the bookshelf.
“I told you, I don’t have it anymore,” Father McCay says. “I tossed it in the bay over 20 years ago.”
“So, you have said, but my employer has spent a lot of years and money to find you and I don’t think; ‘I threw it away’ will pass as an acceptable answer. Which is why he hired me to find out. If I don’t like the answers you give, then I can use any means at my disposal to make sure you’re telling the truth.”
Sister Mercedes watches the gunman tear through every book on the shelf, getting closer to the journal and the fait glow behind it. Memories of her past flood her mind as she calculates her odds. The gunmen would be easy enough to deal with, but Deathstroke, now that would prove much more difficult.
Every scenario she plays out in her mind all end up with the Father not surviving. ‘Use your rage, release me’. That voice again in her head now sounds like it might be their only hope. The gunman reaches out to take the journal off the shelf. Now or never she thinks…
“Stop,” she yells. “I know what you seek. I will get it for you.”
“Sister, what are you doing?” the Father says.
Deathstroke lets the Father up and pushes him back in his seat. Pulling his sword, the villain pushes it into the Father’s chest, just enough to cause him to scream in pain.
“I said stop,” she yells again standing up from her chair. The already nervous gunmen raise their weapons.
Deathstroke laughs, “Just making sure you understand what will happen if you’re thinking of trying anything stupid.”
She nods to the bookshelf, “May I?” she says. The thug looks at Deathstroke who nods, indicating him to move. Old familiar senses come the Sister’s mind, silently calculating the threats as she approaches the bookshelf. The red glow still pulses from behind the Father’s journal. ‘Release me and release your rage’, the voice getting louder in the young woman’s head. Reaching out to grab the journal, she see’s the pleading eyes of Father McCay. He knows what she is about to do.
Sliding the journal away from the bookshelf, she quickly palms the glowing ring and immediately feels a surge of raw power course through her body. She takes a deep breath and it takes a second for her to refocus her attention, ‘Why can’t anyone see the glow’.
Turning around, she places the journal on the desk in front of Deathstroke. “Here, this is what you’re looking for, right? Your employer looking to destroy a good man who has atoned for his sins? What kind of monster are you?”
Deathstroke never takes his eyes off the young Nun. “The paid kind of monster”, he says. “Check that book and it better be in there.”
As the thug approaches, Sister Mercedes feels the other two gunmen nervously raising their weapons, but keeping their distance.
She slowly starts working the ring around toward her fingers, still feeling the power emitting from it affecting her body as if it’s feeding on her. The training and discipline she learned in her former life is the only thing keeping her from passing out. She can feel the ring shrink and pull itself up on her finger. ‘Yes, you will do nicely, we are going to get along so well’ it says.
The thug picks up the journal and just for an instant, Deathstroke cut his eyes toward the journal and that was the break the young nun was looking for.
The red beam of light hit the thug broadside, taking the big man off his feet and pushing him toward Deathstroke. She turns, just as the two gunmen begin to fire their guns, but they only to see a red mist as their bullets punish the bookshelf. A nanosecond later the young Nun was face to face with the gunmen, slicing them open with glowing red claws now extending from her hands.
Deathstroke easily dodged the flying thug and expertly released and hand full of knives at the Sister, only to see her disappear in a red mist. Hearing the screams over the gunfire, he knows the two gunmen are no longer of any use. ‘Dammit, she has what I’m looking for’ he thinks pulling a grenade from his belt.
Mercedes looks at her bloody hands and can’t believe what she has just done. Her pass life, training and killing for the greater good or so she thought; that life she left behind just came back. Came back with such power that it’s intoxicating. It feels…..so good. She now faces Deathstroke, a calculating gun for hire that is not easily defeated.
“Leave now”, she says.
“I don’t fail a contract, but it seems my target has changed.”
The grenade rolled from under the desk and explodes. The young woman tries to dive to one side, but the concussion pushes her back, slamming her into the far wall.
She quickly recovers and rolls to a defensive crouch waiting for an attack from the masked villain, but nothing happens. Deathstroke is gone. The moans from one of the thugs and the fluttering of papers from the explosion is all she hears. Shaking her head to refocus, she rushes over to Father McCay.
As she approaches, tears start to fall from the young Nun. Father McCay lay slumped over in his chair, a large gapping wound in his chest slicing upward to his throat. “No, no, no” she screams, dropping to her knees at his feet. She reaches up and checks for a pulse out of habit, but she already knows he is gone.
“I failed him, I should have saved him,” she says. Wiping some blood from the Father’s face she sees the ring on her finger. “All of this because of you. You did this,” she yells.
All she wants is to take the ring off and destroy it, but the moans of the thug by the bookshelf causes her to pause. Turing her head toward the sound, she watches as the thug desperately crawling toward the door. Standing up, she walks toward the wounded man and using her foot, roughly flips him over on his back.
“No, please don’t kill me,” he says. “I’m just a hired hand, never meant to hurt anyone,” he pleads. The fear in his eyes causes her to smile slightly.
She sits down on top of the big thug, “You came here to kill a gentle, compassionate man of God in a Holy place. Now, you, you beg for mercy. Tell me who hired you and why Deathstroke wanted the Father and you just might see how merciful I can be,” she says, leaning down, gripping the back of his, pulling him toward her, putting her face inches from his.
“I..I don’t know. Honest. We’re just hired guns, they don’t tell us anything. And no one questions Deathstoke,” he says. “Please let me go, I… I will never come back, I’ll just disappear.” The thug’s eyes shift slightly, reflecting the red glow coming from the woman’s hand. “Please have mercy,” he screams.
The young Nun leans over, pressing her lips to the thug’s ear. “Mercy? Did you know that’s what the people in this community call me? Sister Mercy.” The thug shakes his head.
There’s a faint hum from the glowing red claws from the woman’s right hand.
“I should rip you apart, piece by piece, but that was my former life, that I tried so hard to leave behind,” she whispers. She feels the big man trembling under her weight. She feels his fear.
“Mercy you shall have.” Her hand pushes the claws into the side of thug’s chest puncturing his heart. With a slight gasp of air and the trembling stops.
‘Yes, yes. You did what was needed, seek them out, make them pay,’ the voice in her heads says.
“Shut up and get out of my head,” she says out loud. She grabs the ring and tries to pull it off, but it resists her.
‘We are one now. I serve one purpose, to give ordinary people the power of vengeance and only when vengeance is taken can I be removed.’ the voice says with a slight satisfaction.
She pauses, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. Clutching the ring, she pulls. She feels it resisting her, but the ring starts to slide off her finger. “I’m far from ordinary, you son of ….”
‘NO! Impossible, you can’t,’ it says, then silence fills the Nuns head.
She removes her prayer beads and slips them through the ring. “Now, I felt what you can do, felt the power. I however, will not be controlled, so we can work together or I can melt you, turn you into a nail and hammer you to a tree in hell,” she says.
She gets nothing but silence as a reply. “That’s what I thought,” she says, placing the beads back through a loop at her waist.
Pushing herself up she scans the room as if looking for more threats then glances up at the clock on the wall. ‘Still have time before the other Sister’s arrive for morning Service,’ she thinks. She moves with purpose checking each of the bodies for any clues that might be useful. Finding nothing but, ID’s, which are most likely fake, some cigarettes, spare ammo for the guns and loose change, she stops her search and walks back over to body of Father McCay.
She cleans his face of blood and pulled his robes tighter to conceal the open wound as best she could when something catches her eye. Sitting in a pool of blood at the feet of Father McCay appears to be a matchbook She picks it up and wipes the blood off the cover exposing the logo depicting a large iceberg. ‘
Iceberg Lounge, Penguin? Now I have a place to start’ she thinks to herself.
Kneeling at the feet of Father MCcay, Sister Mercedes removes her prayer beads and says a silent prayer. She wipes the tears from her eyes and removes the ring. She examines it for the first time, its surface is rough and carved with several markings. It does not appear to be gold, silver or bronze, it lacks any color at all. She places the ring back on her finger and looks down at her hand as the power starts to flow through her body.
“Now, we can this together, or not. Choice is yours. As you have seen, I will not be controlled,” she says.
‘Yes Sister, together,’ came a whispered reply.
Sister Mercedes stands, grabs the Father’s journal and walks toward the door.
“Let’s go get some vengeance.”
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